Susan's Submission Chapter 4 free porn video

CHAPTER 4
Peter stepped behind her, carefully eyeing the results of the punishment he had
administered thus far. The stripes from the cat-o-nine tails were becoming darker across
Susan’s back and the back of her legs. Her buttocks were somewhat swollen, and
extraordinarily red.
He softly stroked her back, as she stood with her hands behind her head, feet spread. He
spoke as he felt the heat from her skin, “I’m going to leave you for a short time. Why don’t
you have a drink of water, use the toilet and clean up a bit while I’m gone?” He continued,
when I return, I want you to lie upon the table, face down, obviously,” he chuckled.
Susan heard his words, he spoke calmly, evenly, and even gently. She wanted to break
from her position, turn and embrace him, but knew that it wouldn’t be the thing to do. She
heard Peter walk to the door and leave the room.
She moved to the corner and sat gingerly on the seat of the toilet. The pain was returning,
she mused because her erotic excitement was waning. She felt the burning of her flesh and
the soreness, not only of the areas that Peter had used the whip, crop and paddle upon, but
her arms and legs had been stretched nearly to their limit for such a long time, and not to
mention that her struggles in her bonds had probably contributed to her soreness.
She felt Peter’s semen dribble from her sex, and using a bit of toilet paper, wrapped it about
her index finger and felt inside of her vagina, trying to dislodge whatever of his cum may still
be inside of her. She finished with the toilet, flushed, and stood to look in the mirror above
the small sink. She dampened the face cloth that was hanging on the rack next to the towel,
and cleaned her face.
Susan had cleaned beneath her arms, as well as between her legs with the dampened
cloth, then returned it to the towel rack. She used the small face towel to dry herself, and
after replacing it on the rack, moved to the other side and spotting her water bowl, knelt.
Placing her hands on the floor, she bent forward to lap the water. It was fresh water, and
she imagined that Peter had cleaned the bowl and added the water while she was being
fitted by Fiona.
Once her thirst had been quenched, Susan moved sorely to the wooden table, and
managed to get atop. She centered herself on the large table, then lay face down. Her
breasts pressed into the smooth wood, as did her pelvis. She felt the now sore baldness of
her sex as it rested on the smooth wood. She folded her arms, a bit awkwardly with her wrist
cuffs getting in the way, then lay her head on them.
She was tired and wanted to sleep, but her racing mind, prevented it. She considered how
terribly Peter had beaten her, and even only moments later would touch her so gently. She
remembered the single kiss he had given her on her forehead.
It was at this point that she heard the door to the room open, and turning her head, saw
Peter enter awkwardly carrying two metal pails. She tried to see what it was inside, but
could not. As he came next to the table, Susan could see ‘blue-ice’ packs many of them,
filling each bucket. Peter smiled at her and set the pails on the floor.
“Stay just like you are, and relax a bit,” he bent and grabbing an ice pack, placed it gently on
her upper back, just where the red stripes inflicted by the cat-o-nine tails started above her
shoulder blades. He continued to place the ice packs on her back, working his way lower,
and covering each exposed inch of Susan’s burning flesh.
Susan jerked slightly as the first was applied, the coldness startled her, but then she relaxed
and while the ice packs were very cold, they soothed her sore and burning flesh.
Peter would work his way lower, placing a pack on one side of her back, then another next
to it. He had worked his way to her buttocks, then asked Susan to spread her legs further
apart. As she did, he place one vertically between the cheeks of her sore and tender ass,
then two more, one on each buttock. He had just enough of the ice packs to cover the backs
of her legs, then he moved from the table to the wall on the opposite side of the table from
the door.
Susan turned her head on her arms to watch him. He moved to the wall, and reaching up,
pressed the sound-proofing foam insulation. To her great surprise, a door popped open.
The sound proofing foam covered the surface of the door, and there being no knob, no one
would suspect a door.
As he pulled the door open, Susan could make out only a room behind, Peter walked
through the door, and a moment later reentered the dungeon, with a canvass folding chair in
his hand. He paused to push the door closed and heard it click shut, he turned and moved
to the table next to Susan’s head. He unfolded the chair, which was much like a ‘director’s’
chair except it wasn’t so tall, and set it on the floor, and then sat in the chair.
He started the conversation by asking Susan how she was doing, and if the ice packs were
helping.
She told him that she was sore, but that the ice packs were helping tremendously.
The conversation was most ironic, casual and friendly. He explained that the purpose of the
ice packs was not only to relieve the pain, but also mostly to help avoid bruising. He
explained that she would have marks, but if treated correctly, they would not be so bad,and
would disappear quickly.
He chided Susan, “If your lower legs have marks, you could either wear slacks, or a long
dress, or even dark stockings to cover them.”
He asked her where she worked and about her job. She chatted, almost pleasantly with him
about her dead-end job, and how she hated it, but that it paid the bills.
Peter responded, “As you might have guessed, by the size and the décor of my home, I live
rather comfortably.” He continued, “I own a few dozen small businesses, mostly restaurants,
stores, and the like, but I also happen to own a majority of shares of stock in a
pharmaceutical company.” He said this not in a boastful or bragging way, rather matter-of-factly. “I don’t run the company, I suppose I am the Chairman of the Board of Directors, but
not the CEO or President. I let the professionals run the company.” He continued, “I do
make it a point to visit each of my business interests regularly, but I’ve managed to hire
people who do well and don’t steal me blind while they do.”
Susan watched him closely as he spoke. This was not a prideful person, he spoke simply,
and when she spoke, he listened carefully.
They talked for awhile about their interests and hobbies, while Susan was talking about
herself, Peter wordlessly rose from his chair, and lifted one of the ice packs from her back.
He felt the underside of the ice pack and saw that it was thawing. He turned the ice pack
over and placed it from where he had taken it. He turned each of the ice packs over, so that
they would have the best effect.
Peter again took his seat, and asked Susan, “Have you learned anything here?”
Susan took a moment, thoughtfully, looking at Peter and replied, “Yes, I have Sir.”
“What is it that you feel you’ve learned,” he asked.
“You used me to pleasure yourself,” she started, “and somehow, I feel that I gave you at
least a small part of that pleasure.” She continued, “Somehow, it was rewarding to me to
know that I had contributed to it at any rate.”
Peter smiled, “You have learned, and I am happy, but I must ask, why do you allow me to
inflict pain and humiliation on you?”
Susan knew her answer, never-the-less paused as if thinking, “I have given myself to you to
use however you like, and I suppose I trust you to not go too far.” She then added, “I believe
that you find pleasure in knowing that.”
They talked awhile longer, learning about one another and having just casual conversation.
After fifteen or twenty minutes, Peter rose, “Were nearly half way through the morning, and
still have a considerable amount to accomplish today.”
He moved to the other side of the table, and lifted each ice pack from her. They were nearly
thawed now, and he place each into one of the pails he had set on the floor.
“I’m going to leave you only for a few minutes,” he said, “and while I’m gone, I would
suggest that you use the toilet if you need to, and be waiting to resume when I return.” He
turned and walked out of the room.
Susan lay upon the table for a moment more, then raised herself and gingerly stepped from
the table. She didn’t need to use the toilet, but did want another drink of water, so she went
to her bowl and lapped the water into her mouth. Finished, she moved to the center of the
room and knelt with her head bowed.
Only a minute or so later, the door opened and Peter entered. Closing the door behind him,
he ordered Susan to her feet and to the end of the room with him.
She moved to the wall on the end of the room next to Peter. They were standing in front of
the large wooden cross.
“I want you to place your back on the cross, and present yourself,” Peter commanded.
As she did so, Susan watched as he walked across the room to the horse, and bending,
removed each of the lengths of chain from where they had been left, affixed to the four
metal rings in the floor.
He returned to Susan carrying the four lengths of chain along with the carabineer clips, then
knelt fastening the rings of each cuff to the end link of each of two of the chains. When he
stood, he instructed her to hold her hands in front of her, and did likewise with the rings in
her wrist cuffs.
Peter had Susan move back slightly so that her back and raw buttocks pressed against the
wall and the wooden X bolted to the wall. Peter took the length of chain at her right wrist and
raising it high, held it next to the ring. He fed a link of the chain through the carabineer clip,
then hooked the clip to the metal ring. Moving to her other side, he fixed the chain to the
opposite metal ring. Susan was watching, straining to look up as she did, she could see
about a foot of chain dangling beneath each ring, but her arms were stretched and extended
not quite to their capacity.
Peter knelt, and gasping the chain attached to Susan’s left ankle, pulled her foot further to
the side, requiring that she stand on one foot. He pulled on the chain till her leg would
extend no further, and fastened the chain to the metal ring at the base of the cross. He
scooted to her other side and with a strong tug, pulled Susan’s right foot from beneath her.
She found herself suspended on this wooden cross by her wrists alone, and her arms felt
the tension of her entire weight being borne. Peter had quickly fastened the remaining ankle
chain to the ring at the bottom of the X, and stood.
Susan felt much like she had the previous evening when she had been bound spread-eagle
upon the wooden table. Her limbs were pulled and separated widely, much as they had
been, the only two differences being that this time her body was vertical, and her weight
was being borne by her arms.
Peter stood in front of her, and reaching up, fondled her breasts with both hands. He looked
directly into her eyes as he did this, and felt her nipples harden to his touch. He squeezed
and fondled her, hands soon moving over her sides and feeling the flatness of her stomach,
then lower.
Susan felt his fingertips as they first touched the top of her pubic region. She could no
longer look into his eyes, and lowered her head till her chin rested on her chest. Peter was
very slow and methodical, and she felt arousal as his fingers explored between her legs,
stroking her vulva. Her breath caught, when she realized that she had already been
breathing faster, her erotic desires had returned.
Peter didn’t stop, until he had softly parted the lips of her sex with the fingers of one hand,
and with the index finger of his other, he pushed upward and into her. He was not surprised
that it required little effort, as she was very wet and he felt the walls of her sex with his
finger, slick with her juices. Susan hung her head in her embarrassment, and closed her
eyes tightly.
Peter abruptly withdrew his finger from her and moved away. He walked quickly to a
wooden cupboard along the wall, opened the doors and removed several objects, quickly
returning to his spot in front of Susan.
She tried to see what he had gotten from the cupboard, as he knelt and placed something
on the floor, then standing with a black rubber device in his hands. Susan could see that
there were two thick and rigid rubber straps with a buckle at the end of one, the straps were
connected to a thick flat piece of rubber, from which protruded what appeared to be a short
black phallus.
“I’m going to gag you for this portion of your discipline,” he said simply, and with that, moved
the phallic portion of the gag to her lips. “Open your mouth,” came the command, as he took
her chin in one hand, pressing the protrusion to her lips.
Susan hesitated, for only the smallest of moments, the opened her mouth. She tasted the
rubber as it passed her lips and was pushed into her mouth, and felt the tip of the mock-
circumcised penis as it touched her tongue and roof of her mouth. The device was not long,
reaching nearly to the back of her tongue, but not to her throat however, it did fill her mouth,
causing her cheeks to bulge somewhat.
She closed her lips about the shaft of the faux penis and at the same time, nodded her head
forward a bit, as Peter had taken the straps and was reaching behind her head in order to
fasten the buckle that would hold the gag in place.
Peter pulled the straps hard, seating firmly into his victim’s mouth, the rubber cock, causing
the corners of her mouth to stretch, then buckling the straps at the rear of her head. He had
made certain that there was enough tension on the rubber straps, to hold the gag firmly in
place.
Susan was wide-eyed as Peter had inserted and fastened this gag in her mouth. Her tongue
almost as if it had a mind of its own, explored the shaft of the rubber penis inside her mouth,
feeling it, measuring it. Peter bent and picked up whatever it was that he had seton the
floor, and straightening, held the devices in one hand.
The blonde woman could see that they were some kind of clamps. Each had a small lever
on its side, and Susan supposed that the purpose was to adjust the tension of the clamp.
Peter’s free hand returned to her right breast, massaging it gently, kneading the flesh with
his fingertips.
He watched as the small pink nipple grew harder, then raising his other hand, placed her
erect nipple in the jaws of the clamp. Using his thumb, he pressed the small lever of the
clamp, and the jaws closed tightly on the flesh of her nipple, squeezing it hard.
Susan let out a whimper through the gag. The pain shot through her entire breast, as if a
wave of electrical current had hit her. She had looked down as he fixed this clamp to her
nipple, and finally understood the application for which this clamp was designed. The pain
was sharp and unrelenting, and her eyes followed Peter’s hands as he first tested the
tightness of this clamp by giving several sharp tugs. She felt the pain shoot to her lower
body, oddly enough through her hips and into her legs. Had she been standing, her knees
would certainly have buckled.
She watched as Peter quickly moved to her left breast. Its nipple already hard, still he
massaged it, as if trying to achieve maximum erection, then he guided her breast so that its
nipple came between the jaws of the second clamp. She winced and again whimpered as
Peter’s thumb operated the tiny lever tightening the clamp. She saw the flesh of her
engorged nipple, as it was compressed between the jaws.
Peter again tested the grip of the clamp by tugging it sharply, and enjoyed the view of
Susan’s breast as it jiggled with each tug. He poised his hands over each of her breasts and
using his fingertips, traced the outline of her breasts, starting at the top, circling each with
his fingers. He felt the softest flesh of the delicate undersides of her breasts and paused a
moment to gently lift each. He then lowered his hands, turned and walked to the wall where
the various apparatus hung, and retrieving the cat-o-nine tails, quickly moved once again to
Susan who watched wide-eyed his every movement.
“I’m sure you remember our friend here,” he said with a small smile as he held out the whip
for her to see.
Saying nothing further, Peter stood slightly to the side, and bending, raised his arm and let
the first stroke of the cat-o-nine tails fall hard on the flesh of Susan’s upper thigh on her right
leg. Susan had watched as the blow fell, then tried to scream at the sudden and searing
pain, but remembered she could not. The rubber gag had restricted any vocal noise she
might have made, but scream she did.
She had watched the first blow fall, but couldn’t watch any more, closing her eyes tightly.
She wriggled in her bonds, but her movements were nearly as restricted as they had been
when she had been bound over the vaulting horse. Tears ran freely from between her tightly
closed eyelids and ran down her cheeks.
As the thrashing continued, saliva ran from the corners of her mouth, under the rubber gag,
and down her chin. She whipped her head from side to side, trying desperately to avoid the
pain but becoming more and more desperate as she more fully understood that she would
be unable to do so.
As he had with the backs of her legs, Peter carefully aimed each stroke of the whip to land
just below the previous. He stopped after ten strokes as he had reached a point just above
Susan’s knee. He paused while he moved to the other side and resumed administering
blows with the cat-o-nine tails just above her other knee, working methodically upward with
the whip.
Susan could feel every detail of the pain being administered. The searing burn of each of
the leather strips of this whip as they landed wherever, then the tips of the tiny strips as they
wrapped around, and administered their own pain further inward and around to the insides
of her legs. She felt the pain of each stroke upon her left leg, as it rose with each
subsequent stroke, raising up her thigh then nearly to the junction of her legs.
“Surely, he wasn’t going to whip her there,” she panicked, still crying and tossing her head.
At several points between the strokes, she felt the additional pain of the nipple clamps as
she tried desperately to thrash in her bonds, her breasts bobbing in her struggles. Then the
next stroke would land, taking her mind momentarily off the plight of her clamped nipples.
He wasn’t going to whip her there, not for now anyway. Peter had administered another ten
blows to her left thigh, and stood back, looking now at the spectacle before him. Susan was
still trying to thrash about, her screams efficiently muffled by the gag, saliva running from
her mouth to her chin, then dripping to her breasts. Her breasts were bouncing, not wildly,
but with her vain attempts at thrashing about. He watched as the nipple clamps bobbed
from side to side, and up and down. Tears were streaming down her face, her eyes still
tightly closed.
Peter moved back to Susan’s right, and raising the cat-o-nine tails, brought it down hard,
laterally, across her lower abdomen, just above her pubis. She writhed in agony, her muffled
screams pitiful. He stroked again, just above the first, then again.
Susan shook her blonde head from side to side. She tried desperately to move her arms
and legs, as if trying to break the bonds, and run away, but her limbs were stretched nearly
to capacity. Further, she couldn’t even cry out, the penis gag in her mouth would not permit
it. The strokes fell higher and higher till they landed just below her breasts. During this
ordeal, each time she shook her head, it caused her breasts to jiggle about reminding
Susan at one level or another, of the clamp adorning each nipple. The pain of each clamp
had never gone away, it had just become additional pain to whatever strokes were being
administered.
When Peter had landed the strokes with the whip, and working upward from Susan’s lower
abdomen to a point just below her breasts, he stopped. Without pause, he moved from his
bound beauty, to the wall and replacing the cat-o-nine tails, retrieved another leather whip,
and returned to Susan, too far involved with her pain to be aware that he had left.
He stood there in front of her, watching as she cried through her gag. The tiny red stripes on
her thighs and abdomen. They seemed to frame this beautiful woman’s hairless sex. Saliva
had dribbled from between her lips and the gag that held them open, much of it landing on
her breasts, then to the floor. He waited patiently, for her crying to subside.
After several minutes, Susan crying had softened, and finally stopped. She was able to
focus her eyes and saw Peter standing. She sniffled a few times, then made the conscious
effort to stop. Her eyes focused, he was no longer holding the cat-o-nine tails, rather a
smaller whip.
He saw her gaze fall to the small whip he now held, and holding in front of her explained,
“This whip is called a ‘quirt’, ”calmly, as if delivering a class on the subject, “I suspect that
you’ll be able to easily differentiate the pain it causes from anything else, as it will create
pain so much more severe than anything else that I have.”
An indescribable fear filled the young woman, she listened to his words but her mind was
unable to comprehend, “more severe than anything else.” She eyed this instrument, it was
short, only about eighteen inches or so, a single cruel appearing strip of leather, the handle
about six inches, the whip extending from it, was round and thick at the base, narrowing in
circumference to an almost pointed tip. Surely she must already have endured the worst.
She watched with worry, as Peter moved, putting the whip under his arm for the moment,
and reaching for the clamps affixed to her nipples.
“I was considering leaving these on,” he said, indicating the nipple clamps, “but I want you
to experience the stripes you’ll receive from this whip, without anything to distract you.”
He held the underside of her left breast, with his left hand, and lifting it a bit, used his right
hand to release the lever of the clamp, opening the jaws and removing it from her nipple.
Susan had bowed her head, and watched as he lifted her breast, then removed the clamp. It
took a full moment for the blood to rush into her sore nipple, and with it, the incredible pain.
She cried around the rubber phallus filling her mouth. It would have been a wail of anguish
had she not been gagged. The pain passed from her nipple through her entire breast. Her
eyes closed again, and tears squeezed through her tightly closed eyelids. She felt Peter’s
hand at her right breast, opening her eyes, saw his movements, blurred through her tears,
as he released the pale pink nipple of that breast from the clamp. Another moment, and
identical pain from that side.
Peter stooped and placed the clamps on the concrete floor then straightened. He gave
Susan no time to recoup from the pain, rather gripped and raised the tiny whip, bringing it
down hard. The lash landed atop her right breast, raising immediately a horizontal welt
across the top portion of her small breast. Then another just below that.
Susan had not recovered from the pain of the clamps being removed from her nipples when
the first blow landed on her breast. Peter had not exaggerated the pain from this blow was
exponentially greater than any she had felt previously. She was trying desperately to
scream through the gag, when the second blow came, just below the first.
Peter was aware of Susan’s jerking in her bonds, trying to escape the blows he rained upon
her. He took careful aim with each stroke, and after five strokes with the small whip, had
decorated the upper portion of her breast with red stripes. He moved to the other side and
likewise covered the top portion of her left breast similarly. The woman’s muffled shrieks
were the only noise in the room save for the small crack of the leather whip as it landed on
flesh.
Peter had delivered the second set of blows to her breast, then moved back to the original
side. Susan crying in her misery, and unable to see through her tears, felt Peter as he
gripped the nipple of her left breast, and lifted. Pulling it upward a bit, creating new pain in
the sore pink protrusion, then another blow, this time to the soft underside of her breast.
Then four more quick strokes of the whip in rapid succession. It was almost as if he was
running a marathon, trying to finish quickly. A moment later she felt the release of the nipple
of her right breast, again the pain as he pulled painfully on her left breast’s nipple, lifting,
and several more quick lashes to its soft underside.
Finally Peter released the sore nipple and stood back. Susan was crying through her gag,
wailing miserably. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her head now slowly moving from side
to side and hung forward a bit. He watched carefully as the woman suffered. He studied
what little movement her bonds allowed. He listened to her sobs, and noticed the way that
her chest heaved as she cried.
He waited several minutes while the crying subsided slowly. He held the quirt in his hand at
his side, saying nothing, just watching. He wanted the pain she was experiencing, to
subside. He wanted her fully aware of what he had planned next for her. So he waited the
nearly five minutes while Susan brought her crying under control.
Susan’s thoughts slowly returned to her. Her mind had been filled with pain and again she
discovered that she could think of nothing other than the pain while it was being inflicted
upon her. Her sobs softened a bit from around the gag filling her mouth. She realized that
among all the burning and hurt that her breasts were suffering, her jaws were tired and
ached. They had been held open for so long, and along with the exertion of crying, they
longed to have the gag removed. The terrible pain lingered in her thighs, abdomen, chest
and breasts. Her sensitive nipples were so very sore. Her sobbing quieted a bit, and she
was left with the melancholy of her suffering.
When Peter saw that his victim’s breathing had almost resumed its normal rhythm, and
could hear only the occasional low moan from deep in Susan’s throat, he moved, once
again, to the side a bit. Bending slightly at the waist, he raised the whip, taking careful aim,
and landed a viscous blow, directly upon the sex of the blonde woman. The quirt landed just
above her vulva, its tip curling slightly and created its unique secondary pain, just to the top
of her hairless sex. Her reaction was enormous and immediate. Susan’s eyes grew wide
and despite the gag filling her mouth, the scream escaped a bit from around the gag. Peter
was not watching however, he had taken aim again and landed the second blow.
This stroke a bit lower and catching her squarely on her exposed pussy. He expertly
delivered another eight blows, each landing closely to the previous, and her already sore
and somewhat sex delivered the pain immediately from each blow, directly to her brain.
Susan had lost all control, and at that moment, felt her bladder involuntarily empty. She was
only slightly aware of this, and she really didn’t seem to care.
Susan had been crying terribly and as each blow landed, she felt she could stand no more.
Her head tossed madly to and fro, as if to dislodge the pain of each stroke from her brain.
She had never wanted anything before more badly, than for this punishment to end. And,
finally, it did.
Peter, moved back and again observed closely the struggles of his blonde captive. She was
wailing through her gag, more miserably and pitifully than he had ever heard before. Saliva
escaped from between her lips and past the gag dribbling either to her heaving breasts or
directly to the floor at her feet. A puddle had formed between her widely stretched legs
where she had urinated. As her cries had slowed, she became more possessed with
sobbing, and Peter stepped forward.
Reaching behind her bowed head, he unfastened the buckle of the straps holding the gag in
her mouth. Pulling, he removed the shaft of the gag from between her lips, and stood back,
holding the quirt in one hand, the rubber cock gag in the other.
Susan’s body hung limp in her bonds, her weight being born entirely by her wrists, spread
widely and high above her. Her body racked with sobbing, her blonde head hanging, she
moaned occasionally, and Peter watched closely, her suffering. When her sobbing had
quieted a bit, he moved and standing directly in front of her, lifted her chin with one hand,
holding the quirt in front of her face with the other, said nothing.
Susan, feeling her head being lifted, opened her eyes. She saw the tiny whip in front of her
and suddenly realized what was expected. She blinked away the tears filling her eyes, and
strained her neck slightly forward, pursed her lips and softly kissed the tool that had caused
her such enormous pain.
Looking up and directly into Peter’s eyes she stammered softly, “Thank you Sir, for the
discipline,” then continued her sobbing.
Peter, wordlessly released her chin, and moved to the wall, hanging the quirt on its hook,
then moved to the wooden cupboard and placed the gag on the shelf from where it had
come. He moved to Susan, suspended on the wall, and kneeling, released the clip holding
her ankle cuff to the ring in the cross. He took her foot and gently lowered it to the floor. He
slid a bit to the side, and released her other ankle cuff and likewise lowered that foot to the
floor.
Standing, he moved a bit to one side of the woman, and reaching, released her wrist cuff
from the ring secured to the beam of the X, moved to her other side and released that wrist
cuff. He slowly lowered each arm as it was released, then stood back to observe more.
Susan stood in front of the wooden cross, arms at her sides, sobbing only occasionally now,
blonde head still lowered, looking at the floor. The pain was subsiding slowly, but still
overwhelming her. Finally, she was able to raise her head, and she saw Peter watching her.
She moved a bit and discovered that the pain between her legs would not allow her to close
them. Her breasts hurt tremendously, their tortured nipples were two tiny caps of agony atop
each burning orb. The tears had stopped and she continued to look at Peter.
“I want you to present yourself,” came the simple command.
Reluctantly, almost defiantly, Susan slowly obeyed, spreading her feet slightly, and raising
her tired arms to interlock her fingers behind her head. She moved her elbows till they
pointed directly outward.
Peter examined the stripes left by the cat-o-nine tails, they were tiny, almost thread-like
when compared to the viscous welts left by the quirt. He moved closer, and touched the
flesh of his victim, tracing the lines left by the quirt across and underneath her breasts. Then
moved his hand between her spread legs. He felt the welts left by the whip on her sex.
Further, he felt the burning heat there, from the inflamed area, which had beenso cruelly
whipped.
Wordlessly, he looked at Susan’s face as he poised the tip of his index finger at her
opening, and with a little pressure, pushed the digit into her. She winced a bit and
reflexively, jerked her hips back just the slightest bit. He slid effortlessly into her vagina and
felt its heat and the large amount of fluid. Susan, closed her eyes and felt his finger inside of
her, discovering at the same instant as Peter, that she was wet down there.
He quickly extracted his finger and stood back. “Use the toilet, and clean yourself while I’m
gone,” he added rather unemotionally, “When you’ve finished, lie on the table, this time face
up.”
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving the room and Susan still standing, arms
raised. Slowly she lowered them and moved to the corner of the dungeon.
She had done as Peter had instructed and was lying on the wooden table when he again
entered. He had the two pails with him, and again set them on the floor next to the table. He
first reached beneath the table and pulled out the foam cushion, upon which her buttocks
had rested the evening before. He lifted her head with one hand and placed the small pillow
under it. Next he removed the ice packs from the pails, placing them so gently on her body,
again covering her wounds with the frozen plastic packs. He laid two of the ice packs on her
sex, and had covered her thighs with the remaining packs, then moved to the other side of
the table and sat in the canvass chair still at the table’s side.
Neither of them had spoken during this, Susan wasn’t sure what she could say. She was
thinking that while the punishment administered to her backside had been extremely painful,
she had endured it well, and felt Peter’s tender ministrations to her back afterward. The
torment he had inflicted to the front of her body, particularly her breasts and moreover
between her legs with the tiny whip, was extraordinarily cruel.
“Despite what you might think,” he began evenly, “I did not lose control of myself in
punishing you just now.” He voice lacked any emotion or kindness, “I intentionally inflicted
the pain that you felt for a purpose.” He explained as if delivering a lecture, “Often times, I
will punish you because it pleases me to see your suffering, and knowing that you are
willing to undergo that suffering to please me.” He continued, “This particular punishment
was to make you fully aware of your threshold for pain, and to remind you of those specific
areas that are particularly vulnerable to pain.” He finished his lecture.
Susan looked at Peter while he spoke. Her pain and soreness was indescribable. After the
most recent torture, she felt resentment within her, and held her mouth tightly closed while
Peter spoke. She considered the whipping of her most intimate parts as a violation of
whatever trust she had for this man.
Peter saw Susan looking at him with her jaw set and steely blue eyes. “You look at me with
defiance or perhaps contempt, and I thought we had removed that from you, but apparently
not. Don’t worry, you will lose that soon enough.” With that, he rose and left the room,
Susan lying on the table, her body still covered with ice packs.
She turned her head so that she was looking directly above, and saw her reflection in the
mirror above the table. Her body ached with a tremendous pain from literally head to toe,
particularly her buttocks, breasts, and most of all the most intimate area between her legs.
She felt the tears welling in her eyes, and closed them, crying softly. Suddenly she felt a
helplessness like nothing she’d felt before. She realized that there was nothing that she
could do to stop whatever events happened, and that Peter could and would abuse her this
way whenever he liked. Of course, she was right, but felt helpless never-the-less.
After several minutes, Susan had regained her composure, lying still on the wooden table,
she heard the door to the dungeon open. Peter entered, carrying a bowl and thermos bottle,
moved to the corner and setting the bowl on the floor, picked up the water bowl from which
Susan had drunk. He emptied it in the sink, rinsing it before returning it to its spot on the
floor. He then opened the thermos and poured whatever liquid it held into the bowl.
Finished, he moved to the table, setting the empty thermos on the floor, lifted an ice pack
from Susan’s pain wracked body, and seeing that it had thawed on one side, turned it over,
placing it from where it had come. He repeated this process with each ice pack, turning the
still frozen side on Susan’s welted and sore flesh.
“I’m going to leave you for about an hour. You may clean yourself and use the toilet as you
like,” he said evenly, “and, I’ve prepared your lunch. You really had better eat.” As he
finished his sentence, he had turned the last ice pack, again placing the still frozen side next
to Susan’s sore flesh. He turned and left the room.
Susan hadn’t made a sound, she had stared at her reflection above her. He had left and she
moved her arms a bit, her wrist cuffs still adorning her wrists, only reminded her of her
subservient situation. She felt the resentment, but also felt alone.
After ten minutes or so, Susan stirred, she felt her stiffness, probably from the ice packs
covering her, and decided to rise. She gingerly lifted the ice packs off her upper body, and
stiffly sat in an upright position. She removed the remaining ice packs from her thighs and
saw the welts that had been left by the vicious little whip. They had created a pattern across
her thighs, and while she was fascinated, she could feel the individual pain of each.
She pivoted on her tender buttocks, and swung her legs over the table, then lowered herself
gingerly to the floor. She moved only after a few moments, stiffly to the sink and toilet where
she cleaned herself, then to the bowls to eat her lunch.
The pain that had covered her body lessened a bit as time passed, Susan knelt and ate
from her bowl. Peter had prepared some sort of seafood salad, and she found orange juice
in her water bowl. The juice tasted good, and after starting to lap the liquid, Susan decided
to lift the bowl and drink, her first defiance of Peter’s ‘rules’. By this point in time, she had
become defiant.
Once she’d finished the meal, she again used the toilet, wiping herself with toilet paper quite
carefully down there. Not sure what to do next, she returned to the table, lifted herself onto
it, and lay on her back.
She saw her reflection in the overhead mirror. Her body was red and sore from above her
breasts to just above her knees. She stared at her vulva, they were very swollen, and the
lash had left welts across each of her puffy outer lips. She was tired, but much too sore to
sleep.
Susan became fascinated with the marks and swelling on her body. She had never seen
herself, or anyone else for that matter, in such a state. She would trace the tiny lines across
her breasts with her fingertips, feeling them, exploring them. She opened her legs a bit and
touched the marks on her lower abdomen, then with the gentlest touch, those upon her
vulva. She put her hands at her sides again and studied her body’s reflection in the mirror
above her.